Page 4 of Help Me Remember

Wondering if I was about to be left to entertain myself for an extended period again, I gazed around. The room seemed to be in about the same shape as the rest of the building, but the medical supplies cabinets had clean glass, there was a fresh box of latex gloves on the counter, and the room seemed neat and tidy. While I wasn’t sure if they’d be able to help me, at least I could probably count on not getting an infection while I waited.

The door flew open, and I jerked in surprise as a tall woman strode into the room. Her white coat was pristine, and her hair was pulled back into a tight, messy bun. It was streaked with white and gray, and I could see the lines on her face deepen as she grabbed the folder and began to read.

“Mr. Brown?”

I blinked at her gray eyes as they peered into mine, waiting for a response. “Oh. Right. Yes, that’s me.”

“Not sure of your name?” she asked wryly, closing the door behind her. “A little confusion from your…fall?”

The hesitation, I noted, didn’t come from doubt but from her glancing at the folder the nurse had left behind.

I nodded. “At least, I think it was a fall.”

“Hit your head?”

“I did.”

“That what the hat is for?”

“I, uh, didn’t get a chance to see how bad it was. I didn’t want to scare people.”

“Of course,” she said, setting the folder aside and going to wash her hands at the sink. “Well, take the hat off so I can take a look.”

Taking it off carefully, I set it aside and bent forward so she could see my head. There was a snap of gloves being put on, and I could see her stepping forward to lean over and peer at the wound.

“Well, that’s a pretty nasty one you have there. You’ll definitely need some stitches,” she said, sounding intrigued. “And you got this from a fall? Through some floors?”

“A couple of floors,” I said. “At least.”

“At least,” she repeated with a snort, gently probing the wound and making me wince. “Falling two floors and landing on your head is easy. Surviving that is something else entirely, however. Now, just what were you doing falling two stories?”

“Other than getting shot, I don’t know,” I told her.

Her probing hesitated. “You were shot?”

“I was wearing a vest.”

“You were wearing…a vest. So you were shot and fell down inside a building?”

“Seems that way.”

She stepped back, and I lifted my head to find her frowning at me. “You can keep your secrets if you must, but jokes and sarcasm aren’t going to help me treat you.”

“I’m not joking,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t know what actually happened.”

She grunted thoughtfully, stepping back to toss her gloves in the trash. “Having difficulty recalling a traumatic and painful event isn’t uncommon after an injury, particularly when a head wound is involved.”

“What about not being able to remember anything?” I asked her quietly.

Her motion to reach into the cabinet hesitated. “Anything?”

“What I was doing. What city this is. Where I came from. Where I grew up.” I swallowed hard and spoke softer. “What my name is.”

The doctor finally turned, her eyes narrowing as she searched my face. “Complete retrograde amnesia?”

“I still remember how to cross the street safely, how to count, and I knew that some of the symptoms I was showing could be a concussion,” I told her, feeling absurdly proud of that fact.

“But, you don’t know who you are?”

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